


sandbox love never dies (jacqueline's body)

by saltytangerine



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Crack, Alternate Universe - Demons, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Canon Lesbian Character, Crack Treated Seriously, Demons, F/F, Gay Bucky Barnes, Lesbian Character, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:42:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22466626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltytangerine/pseuds/saltytangerine
Summary: God must have a different plan for me because I've prayed until I'm blue in the face and my hands are cold from clasping so tightly, rosary beads digging in and leaving pink marks that last for hours, but not even Catholicism can save me now.(jennifer's body au)
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	sandbox love never dies (jacqueline's body)

**Author's Note:**

> this is literally the most crackiest thing i've ever written. 
> 
> jennifer's body au. does what it says on the tin. doesn't follow the story exactly but is pretty damn close.

Hell is a teenage girl. 

  
I guess I’m not exactly perfect myself, but at least I have my fans, I get letters every day, mostly from perverts and churchers, but I’m kind of the shit. Maybe not world renowned, but definitely nationally. I made it ma, national news at seven, the murderer in pigtails with milk bottle glasses. It's not like I need them now, I'm all but fixed, I can run for miles before getting out of breath, bruises heal faster and words bounce off my back like I'm made of steel. It's a far cry from the girl who had a blue inhaler tucked away in her cardigan pocket and a spare in her bag. 

”Recreation time started five minutes ago, Rogers.” Is the same call I get every morning, fresh out of breakfast, still tasting the orange juice on my tongue. I don’t even have to look over my shoulder to know he’s standing with his left foot barely inside my room, his right hand on the door frame. Raymond isn’t tall, but he’s misleadingly wide and I think that’s why not many of us try to get past him. I know different— I know if I would kick him, he’d be as soft as butter and people would just think I was superhuman.

Sometimes the letters are from people who say they’re praying for me, who tell me that everything will be ok if I just accept Jesus Christ into my heart, but don’t they know I’ve said those words a thousand times and no one comes back, no one gets off the cross and nothing changes. God must have a different plan for me because I've prayed until I'm blue in the face and my hands are cold from clasping so tightly, rosary beads digging in and leaving pink marks that last for hours, but not even Catholicism can save me now. I still wear the same orange day in and day out, I still wait for the one letter a week I get postmarked from my hometown, the one letter that smells like her perfume. 

They try to make us faceless, nameless, lost in a sea of orange and exhausted by never quite enough food and too much time outside. I was never able to participate in sports, I hated the rain, the cold that winter brings, but now I’m here, caged, I would kill to feel a southwesterly breeze or drizzle on my face. I don’t eat as much as I should— I get by on breakfast and last until dinner, still running at full steam and with enough energy to participate in any recreation they organise. They want to keep us under control, sluggish, so I can't start an uprising. I'm not a leader or a saviour though, even though I know they have written grandiosity under my name; I saw it once from across the desk in a compulsory shrink appointment. I have only told them the truth; I told them what happened, I don't lie, I don't have the capability of being a good liar; she always used to say that my face could give me away before I could even open my mouth. I have never once changed my story, because it's all true. I told the jury, I told the judge, I told my ma, looked her straight in the eye and told her that _I didn't kill those boys_ , the only lie I ever told was that I didn't hurt her.

_Rogers_

_Siobhán "Stevie"_

_5' 0"_

_97lbs_

_Blonde//Blue_

Two women with grey hair play badminton, stood too close to the net and the tether-ball I hit isn’t strong enough to withstand the force of my punch, not that I’m trying, not this early in the day. The ceiling has glass windows hidden behind grates, giving us at least a little sunlight. I don’t like to run and I’m not a team player, at least not with these women, and no matter how much I exercise, they can’t wear me out. It’s like I became a different person as soon as they put the handcuffs on my wrists, blood still on my hands and under my nails.

“I can’t help but notice you only had one toast ‘em today.” It’s somewhere after noon and my lunch tray is empty, sat on the table, while I sit on the radiator, looking out at the green grass that I can never touch. Her voice is irritating, it grates on me every time Dr Sybil opens her mouth, usually to give some unwanted advice, today will be the same, and I’ll feel the same rage building with each syllable. 

“I like toast ‘ems.” 

“I’m glad, but I’m concerned that they don’t continue enough energy to power you through your day— I recommend a more complex carb—” I don’t need to hear anymore, and as for me? I’m a kicker, _K I C K E R_ , it even says so in my chart and with my blood this hot, it’s a reflex, just to kick her in the face. It happens before I even form the thought to act. I hear the crash before I feel the pain in the ball of my foot from her sharp jaw. She lands on the ground, by the table, women have moved from their seats in a rush, to avoid being a cushion for her landing. They don’t say anything, and for a moment there is silence and a stillness that is comforting, until she ungracefully spits blood onto the floor and the other prisoners start hollering, banging their meal trays and cutlery. 

“I recommend you shut the fuck up.” Spitting is a nasty habit and my ma would give me a look that would hurt more than a backhander, and yet, I still do it. It’s who I am now, a person who uses curse words, who fights, who can’t control their rage. I wasn’t always this cracked, I used to be pretty normal, me, Bucky, and my boyfriend Sam. We were normal teenagers living in a normal town too far away from the city for our parents to be worried about crime. A far cry from Brooklyn, where I was born, but now I think about it, I think that Devil’s Kettle had always been my home; it’s where she was born, and from the age of five, _she’s_ been my home.

I’m stronger than the orderlies and my legs don’t seem to tire, not even after kicking her, then at them. It’s out of sheer boredom that I pull my punches, let them drag me to the solitary. I’m tossed inside, like a rag doll, landing hard on the ground. The scream that comes from my mouth when I scurry back to the furthest wall from the door isn’t my own, it’s not a scream I’ve ever made, but it scares them enough to slam the door, the bolt screeching as it slides in to position to seal me from the outside world. It wasn't always like this and it didn't need to be; it all started when the killings started— I began to feel a little… Loose around the edges, you know, unhinged, like maybe I was responsible. Maybe now that I look back, I am. 

_“Through the trees, I will find—”_

They use music as torture in some places, blasting awful music to prisoners to make them lose their minds, this is what they’re doing to me, playing that song, they know it hurts, how much it stings to listen to, how badly it makes me want to self destruct. That can’t happen though, not today, not when so much is at stake. Tonight, that’s when it’ll go down, when the great reunion will happen, when we’ll get revenge. 

**Author's Note:**

> pls follow me on twitter @saltietangerine and tell me how much you hate genderswap aus because i need some fire in my belly. i have fallen down a femstucky rabbit hole and i cannot get out of it.


End file.
